the seasons of coffee dates

I think they probably started around the time we all got our drivers licenses.  Coffee dates.  Meeting a friend to chat over our hot beverage.  About life.  About our dreams.

Back then, let's be honest, we'd talk mostly about boys.  About who was dating who.  About who we wanted to be dating.  Or maybe about who we were dating and how sweet or not-so-sweet it was.  And our future.  College?  Here or there?  There was always something next.  Something that must be better than now.  We were always eager to move forward.

Then we graduated high school and some of us stayed and some of us moved.  Coffee dates of college exponentially increased in frequency and coffee in consumption.  The faces changed and conversations deepened.  We talked about purpose.  About how our studies fit into the big picture of life.  Of what God was teaching us.  And, of course, boys.  Who we were (or weren't) dating.  Who was engaged.  Who was already married.  And me, still looking forward.  Something more, something better.  Waiting for whatever it is that completes you.  Unsatisfied with now.  I still don't think I got it.

Eventually, two by two, we all got engaged.  Married.  And started our grown-up jobs.  Coffee dates of college graduates are now for catching up.  We seemed to think we were busy in college, but we had no idea what busy was.  We talked about our married life.  Husband and wife stuff.  Recipes.  Sewing.  And of course, babies.  When are you starting to try?  How many kids do you want?  How spaced apart?  The season of coffee dates that were paired with tears over heart break and months and months of wanting that next thing.  A child.  Oh, when that happens, life must be complete?  At least, this is how I always viewed it.

Then, we are blessed with babies and meet for coffee dates as mothers.  Conversations unfinished due to hungry babies and distractions of spit up and blow outs.  How is it to be a working mom?  Will you quit?  Will you stay home?  How long is your baby sleeping?  Ea where you are poured out far more than you are filled.ting?  Are you doing baby-wise?  Baby wearing?  Cloth diapering?  Oh, the conversation options were endless.  It was easy to stay surface, because life was very much surface and there was a whole lot of it.  I know that I felt alone at times, in my quest for depth and purpose in this new season.  The season where we pour out a whole lot more than we are often filled.  

And then the conversations always turn to the next one.  How far will you space your kids?  Do you want another boy?  A girl?  Really, two in diapers?  There was always something next.  Something more.  And still, I found myself pushing myself quickly toward that next thing.

Then something happened.  My one baby became a brother.  And my big baby slowly became no longer a baby, but a toddler.  A walking and gabbering toddler.  All in a matter of months.  And suddenly the importance of the here and now is impressed on my heart in a way that I never understood before.

In this season, my coffee dates look different.  

I would talk about purposefully taking the days slowly.  Not rushing my kids to grow.  Watching them explore the world for the first time.  Soaking it in.  

I'd ask about what you love doing with your kids.  Right now, what is your favorite thing to do with your time?  What memories have you created recently?  

And what can we do right now that is pouring into them?

What am I doing right now that is building my relationship with my husband?

What am I doing right now that is encouraging my kids?

What do you love most about now?

In a way I haven't quite understood before, I know that today is a gift.  Time goes more quickly than we realize.  I'm in a season of looking forward, but not hastening now.

when he listens without understanding

Just now I was on the floor playing with the littlest, shortly after putting the big one down for a nap.

He doesn't like to nap.  This I know.  But I'm not about to wave my white flag on nap time.  That one will be a battle I'll continue to fight.  I need it as much as he does.

But he's always been content to goof around in his crib.  I give him a few books and sometimes he dozes off and sometimes not.

This was one of the sometimes not times.

While playing peekaboo and urging the littlest to take a try at crawling, I suddenly hear, and feel, a huge thud.  It shook the whole house.  (our house is small, it doesn't take much)

Thud.

And then nothing.

I think it was the nothing that scared me more.  I pictured him falling on his head and unconscious on the floor.  Even though I know this child is incredibly agile and excels at climbing, this was the image I had in my head as I ran toward his room.

I threw open is door and there he was.

Standing in the middle of his floor.  Truck and blankie in hand.  Grinning from ear to ear.

"What did you do???" The look on my face must have shown my fear, because the grin quickly turned to tears as he asked to be held.

I scooped him up and rocked him in my lap (since he has long outgrown my arms) and then had a very stern but gentle talk about staying in our crib.

*sigh*

I'm not sure I'll ever get used to my children getting older.  Conquering new feats, I encourage and praise them, but it is bittersweet as I realize that it will never go back to the way it was before.

Some days the growing up is hard.  Other days, it's wonderful.

There's nothing that has made be understand the Lord quite like parenthood.  And why I am his child.  And how he fathers me.  And why he didn't create us to simply be controlled.  A Lord creating us to choose Him.

How I love when my boy chooses to listen.  Because when I tell him not to climb out of his crib, it isn't because I want to burst his bubble and ruin his fun or hinder his motor skill growth.  Far from it.  It's because I don't want him to fall on his head and hurt himself.  He doesn't see that.  He can't comprehend that right now.

But he listened.  I put him back in his crib and gave him his books and he stayed right there.  So we have the crib for at least one more night (until I can get a guard rail up).  But I'm so proud of him when he listens, even without understanding.


Lord, what do I need to listen to?  What do I need to have faith to do, despite understanding?

removing the bowls.

Seasons of new truth and growth are wonderful and exhausting.

I'm learning loads about myself, but even more about the grace that covers all.  And so I want to know more about this grace and this love demanding a Savior.  I no longer want to depend on what I've been told second-hand my whole life.  A season of eating the real Word is good and needed.

But with it comes responsibility.  I can't read truth and act as if I haven't.  I can't have heart change without life change.  It just doesn't work.

Weeks and weeks ago I read Matthew 5.  Not for the first or even tenth time.  Who knows how many times I have read that we are the light of the world and to place my light on a stand instead of under a bowl (or basket, depending what version you read).

And in my overly-deep and analytic mind, this seemingly simple verse goes on a spiral.

I think in the past I have read this and thought I needed to go out and figure out where my light was.  Instead of realizing that I am the light.  Him in me is the light.  Right where I am.  In my day to day without even leaving my home.  I shine for my kids.  I shine for my friends.  I shine for husband.  Christ in me.

But in this season, I'm looking to identify the bowls I've placed in my life.  The friendships where I have shied away from speaking truth.  Even the attitudes where I choose self over Christ.  The moments where I can shine and serve, but it's easier and more tempting to complain and choose entitlement.

Sometimes my mind is exhausting.  Sometimes recognizing the bowls is exhausting.  And keeping them off is harder work than putting it on.

I think I like to hide under bowls in some areas of my life.  Two stand out in particular to me.

I think I like to put bowls on my blog.  There was a time last fall where I felt the tug to write more.  Share more of my heart.  Be real, truthful, honest.  Encourage, through my mess.  Not for the purpose of just airing my junk, but to seek Christ in the middle of it.

But, multiple times since then, I've been tempted to believe the lies.  That it doesn't matter.  That maybe I'm being too bold or in-your-face or offensive.  That I should back off the Jesus talk.  That nobody cares about that.  That is the bowl of insecurity in my calling here.  And the lies of the Devil.  As dumb as I feel sometimes about taking this little blog seriously, I really do.  But that's not to say I don't feel the risk of putting myself out there like I sometimes do.  I definitely feel that risk.  I pray against this insecurity all the time, but it is there.  Wondering who is reading.  Wondering what they think.

But ultimately, I know that those thoughts aren't from Christ.  Simply, they aren't.  So I keep walking and keep writing and remove that bowl.

I also like to put bowls on my hospitality.  Welcoming people into my home is not a natural gift I have.  It's another area of insecurity for me.  Many many times after I have friends over, I kick myself for not offering the water or coffee sooner.  For not asking more questions about them.  For not being more welcoming.  My natural introvert tendencies are to stay home and keep to myself.  Especially when it comes to inviting people over that I don't know.  But I also have a desperate need for community (I think us ladies were created that way).  Sharing my heart and sharing life with other women.  So I have to talk myself up and remove that bowl telling me I'm a bad hostess and invite the people over and share life in my imperfectness.  I share life with my messy sink and dog hair in all corners and my bedroom door closed, because that's where the mess all hides.  I am making it a priority to open my home, as uncomfortable as that can be for me.  Because sharing meals and sharing life lets the light shine.  It's so much harder to shine through the closed doors.

These bowls of insecurity prevent me from sharing life.  Sharing the light.  Sharing what I'm learning about Christ.  Sharing that I'm imperfect but have found grace.

What bowls do you need to remove to let your light shine?  

when I realize I had it all backwards

We met on Monday morning like we do.  Braving the winter weather and sub-freezing chill, ready to pass off the kiddos to the sitters and quickly preparing our hearts to dig deep and do so quickly.  Two hours can fly by before you know it.

We're trying to be more like David.  The sinful human man who understood God's heart.  Desperate for God.

And the question was asked.  Do you live in need of God?  What does this realistically look like in your life?

And my thought progression goes, well, yeah.  I need God.  I know I need Him.  In my mind, I know I need Him.  But in my life, I act like I need coffee and sleep and people and facebook {shamefully} more.

I remember when I was a new mom.  Into this motherhood gig only a few months, and I cried out asking Mom's how they make the time for everything they need.

The advice was what good for me in that season.  That season where I was adjusting to my new all-consuming role ridden with guilt for not doing-it-all.  They told me to be easy on myself.  That if I don't read my Bible every day and don't do all-the-things that it is okay and that God knows my heart.

And really, that is truth.  It's not about doing all the things.  It is about my heart.  And the message of grace.  Because He never asks us to have it all together first anyway.

But I took that as somewhat of an excuse to be lazy about it.  To not need God, and to start living out of myself.  To not wake up early and read, because I had reasons not to.  To not take the time to be still before Him, because I didn't hardly find time to shower.  Of course, these things never happen intentionally.  But it is just our natural selves that start to show when we lose focus.

A year or so later, I am realizing that I had it all backwards.

I need Him in order to do any good in this motherhood/wife/friend gig.  I need Him first.  I don't need to be a mother or a wife or a friend first.  I need Him to fill me first so the rest can follow. 

For me, that does mean I need to make this a priority.  It means I am reading.  It means I am finding ways to meet with the Lord even when I'm run into the ground exhausted.  David did.  As messed up as he was, he was one of the few people in the Bible who got it.

Isn't it funny how the same lesson learned over and over and over can have new truth in the different seasons?  Of course I had learned before that I need God.  But this truth is taking a new and deeper meaning in my heart.  Or maybe I am just more receptive.  I recently read it best, when said I must narrow my life until Jesus becomes everything.  A difficult, but totally freeing process.  As this happens, all the rest seems so trivial.

In whatever case, this new truth and conviction requires action.  Confession and moving forward, toward Christ.

And so I keep on walking.